


do cats kill songbirds?

by alynshir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Curiosity, F/F, leliana/marjolaine - Freeform, pre-leliana's song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynshir/pseuds/alynshir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is curious, and they must have the last word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do cats kill songbirds?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> This is set prior to Leliana's Song.

You have been a bard for two whole days now.

It does not sound like such a long time at all, really, not when you think about it, but it feels as if you have clutched the handle of the blade she offered you, for your whole life. It is strange, you feel, to have someone like her - she, a dark haired beauty with flashing eyes and an ever constant smirk on her lips, she who wields her words like a queen wields her scepter - actually look at someone like you with something other than disdain and boredom. No, you think, she looks at you with...something.

It is not hatred, you know what that looks like far too well. It is not love, although at that you merely assume based on the stories you have read about love, as well as the fact that she has known you for less than a week. It is a strange look, and you cannot quite puzzle it out. 

She is looking at you now, even, as you think this over. You are nestled into your temporary bedroll by the fireplace, your eyes half closed as you watch the embers dance a slow waltz. It is quite late, and you should be asleep. Maybe that is why she is looking at you, why you can feel the eyes on your back watching you intently from the desk in the corner, because she knows your breathing is too shallow for slumber. No, no, it feels more...nonchalant. You have no idea how a feeling of a look can be nonchalant, but it does feel that way to the targeted nape of your neck. You feel your heartbeat flinch in your throat, you feel your eye twitch, as you think about how you are supposed to be asleep yet you are not.

Why is she looking at you? What is so interesting? Has your shirt ridden up, is there a spider on your blanket, what is it that draws her gaze so? You are so much less interesting than any of the other greenhorn bards you have met in the past few days - the elf apostate is powerful and very smart, the dwarf mercenary is bawdy and amusing...why would anyone care about a measly human woman who could maybe carry a tune? You are suddenly burning like the flames you watch, burning to know what causes her interest, you are dying of curiosi-

Oh.

Curiosity. Yes, curiosity, that is what it is, curiosity. The thought comes to you as a surprise, because although you have known the woman for less than a week, she does not seem the type to lack. She always seems to know everything, see everything, hear everything, even before it occurs, and you have never heard the words "I do not know" leave her wry lips.   
She is like a cat, always watching, always knowing - but now something is different, because there is someone, something she does not know. You suppose it is you she does not know. 

It gives you a strange little trill of a feeling in your chest, that you - a greenhorn bard, a young woman who has less to offer than a street rat, someone completely uninteresting and bland - are able to make someone, a talented and wildly intelligent bardmaster no less, look at you with the curiosity that she has let grown rusty. If you were not supposed to be asleep (although you know your masquerade has no chance of fooling the thrilling, predatory eyes that watch you) you would have smiled in a smug sort of fashion, something you have only seen her do before. Maybe she would be proud that she is passing such a useful, attractive quality on to a trainee. 

Curiosity killed the cat, you know.

You hear her move, then, the fabric of her clothes rustling as she stands. You stiffen instinctively, and even as you internally cringe when you fully give away your consciousness, she laughs. It is a low chuckle, a darkened, sultry sound, and reminds you of the dark summer fires that burn on muggy evenings. It wraps around you and settles into your skin, chilling it and raising goosebumps but yet filling you with a strange sort of warmth.

"If you want me to believe you sleep still, you must first learn not to hum when you think too much," she says softly, her voice dancing with amusement. You feel a flash of heat scald your cheeks as you realize that the pretty song you have had playing in your mind had not just been in your mind after all.

She is smiling, you can hear it in her voice even as you refuse to give in and accept that you have been caught.

"Ah, you are a stubborn thing. Maybe you sleep-hum, that is you want me to think, but I know better. It is an odd habit to begin with, and you do not have this habit. It is petty of you to think I would fall for this, yes, but rather..." She pauses, the grin in her tone growing as she knows your anticipation does the same, "...endearing on such a pretty thing."

She sighs after you deign to respond, and laughs again to herself.

"Good night, my pretty little songbird," she says, her voice dimming as she turns away from you, and then the room is quiet save for the crackling of the fire and the pounding of your staccato heartbeat in your ears. You wait for a moment and then release the breath you did not realize you had held captive in your chest. You hear a distant laugh from down the hall as the breath whispers through your lips.

Curiosity may kill the cat, you think, but the cat will always catch the bird.


End file.
